6:66
by travestiously
Summary: 666 may just not be the most unholy of numbers. 6:66 AM isn't impossible. Sixty-six days for thirty-three days of hell. Four teenagers. Two documentaries and only one is legal.
1. 0:00 AM

**DISCLAIMER: RICK RIORDAN OWNS THE PERCY JACKSON/HEROES OF OLYMPUS SERIES - I OWN THE IDEA.**

 **WARNING: DRUG USE, LANGUAGE, REFERENCES, VIOLENCE, SUICIDAL TRIGGERS, AND OOC CHARACTERS.**

 **FOREWORD:**

 _ **"i have yet to see humanity reveal itself beneath a beast."**_

* * *

 **SYNOPSIS:**

 ** _DREW TANAKA - THE MODEL._**

 _ **MALCOLM 'CHASE' - THE GENIUS.**_

 _ **LOU ELLEN CALIGO - THE HYPNOTIST MURDERER.**_

 _ **CECIL WENDELL - THE SCAMMING STONER.**_

 _ **a/n; enjoy ?**_


	2. 1:00 AM (legal)

**_↠drew tanaka↞_**

 **[ the model ]**

"FUCK YOU."

It was only natural that Drew Tanaka was famous for her vulgar language. Something she liked to remind herself of whenever the tabloids went to directions she not only found annoying but extremely full of bullshit.

With her long, previously manicured nails that had crescent like points as they grazed the expensive mahogany desk, she held a leveled gaze at a reporter. Like many other reporters, they seemed intimidated by the tall, Asian model who had a sharper tongue than the most loudmouthed of paparazzi.

This one, however, was not an exception.

"Fuck you," she repeated, although more to herself this time, the acrimonious gaze of her eyes reflecting the fear of the reporter.

"It's t-true, though, isn't it?" they challenged, their voice shaking slightly as the camera was held clumsily in their hands. "You did kiss Jason Grace—"

"I _didn't_ ," she told them coolly, cupping their jaw with her sleek, cold fingers tightly. The sudden movement reminded them of a jaguar and the reporter gulped; victorious, Drew's hand went limp as it fell to her side. "I just spoke to him."

"Flirted."

"So what? Everyone flirts."

"I don't."

"You're flirting your way to be homeless," she informed her sharply. "So shut up—what's your name?" She knew it of course; this reporter was famous among the nightmares of many models.

"Eris," she answered, and as if there was a small button in the reporter's mind, she grinned widely, pearly teeth in full view. "Named from the goddess of chaos and discord."

Gritting her teeth while smoothing down the feathery dress, Drew forced herself to smile slightly at the corner of her lips. The words she uttered were poisonous sweet honey: "Hun, the only thing discord about you is your breath."

She grits her teeth and Drew takes a moment to value the anger radiating off the animalistic reporter. The day started out sour and negative, like any other and this is one of those precious moments that she treasures before a photo shoot.

She almost smiles at the thought.

Photo shoot to her means surgery.

Surgery, as in changing her face and maybe feeling less of a hideous creature that deserved to crawl in a hole. She let a small grin escape her, but it looked sardonic. Eris' hand gripped tighter to the pen as she wrote down notes and cleared her throat.

"I know you did something wrong—I can smell the guilt radiating off you," Eris hissed, out of earshot from the cameras. Her voice rang through Drew's skull as her words floated as poisonous clouds: "Everyone knows what you're going to do."

Her heart pounded as she grit her teeth, the words ringing. The guilt wouldn't leave, it wasn't a blemish or a pimple; it was a forever scarred mark of beauty, cracking and bringing in ugliness. Drew inhaled as she smiled.

A doll-like, perfect smile that surprised the reporter.

"Why, Eris, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Thee acrimonious tone was invisible, but Drew felt it as the words slipped from her tongue, familiar and foreign, poisonous and a cure—all at once. Brushing loose strands off hair from her face, she looked at the mirror.

"You can leave now and find news somewhere else." _And leave my own privacy out of your business_ , she silently added, the bitter tone of her words impaling the once sweet smelling air now making it feel choked.

"No."

"No?" Drew laughed hollowly. "Oh, honey, _yes._ No is for those inconsiderate bigoted idiots who can't understand that I won't tell you." Lowering her voice, she grabbed the front of Eris' shirt while sneaking glances around the room. "Price?"

The reporter's breathe hitched as she answered with a low tone, "They said you would only have thirty three days instead of sixty six."

Drew nodded, satisfied with that—half the torture, plus a slap to the face of everyone who thought she'd go as low as sixty six. Leaning in, her lips an inch away from the reporter's ear, the gossip ready to pounce and words ready to escape throughout the air.

"Piper McLean is planning to kill herself because she was raped by Kronos."

And the information, juicy and morbid, disgusting and yet pleasing to Eris' ear, Drew couldn't help but realize how she ruined her sister's life just for the sake of her own selfishness. She shoved the churning guilt down, replacing it with the smug look that was reflected from Eris.

"Why thank you, Tanaka, your honesty is much appreciated."

And with that one look Eris gave her, the freezing raw ice inside of Drew shattered. It was replaced with melancholy, because the doubting look the reporter gave her told it all: _I don't believe you, but since you're innocent and naive—even though you don't think so, you stupid thing!—I'll pretend to._

Instead of the tears that were slowly building up from unimaginable pain that would soon bring her pride tumbling, she straightened her posture, grinned widely, and let the venom escape her words like never before.

"Of course, if only honesty saved _your_ relationship."

Eris was vain. She was a cheater. She thought of chaos like her best friend when only it thought of her as a stick, charred and leaving behind ashes, soon to disintegrate when the fire burns her wholesome. When she slept with people other than her husband, she relished in it.

So it shouldn't have been a surprise when he saw it posted on Facebook. And she shouldn't have seen it as a surprise when karma hit her.

Of course, Drew Tanaka was famous for her vulgar language as she was beautiful.

 **[ arrival reason : signified ]**

"STOP IT," she hissed.

"What?" the fellow teenager, although less fortunate than Drew with riches and beauty, was no less spiteful. Her hand dangled above the cup of clear, clean water that Drew had barely enough energy to take. "You want the water, oh well, I'm sorry, your majesty."

Lou Ellen, a sassy, sarcastic, cynical asshole—or in Drew Tanaka's words. Other people might find her entertaining or hilarious, although it may have been because her and Drew were like lost sisters with their spiteful personalities.

With dark, almost clear skin scarce for the acne, and curly fro that was, with difficulty, in a gelled ponytail, Lou Ellen was attractive—although her dark eyes could've made up almost all of it before, basically screaming temptation with the long lashes and dark eye that could stare through you; now bloodshot and almost dead.

"Just give it, Lou Ellen, or I won't be half as nice when it's your turn," she hissed, the hoarse tone of her voice scratchy and raspy, almost screaming for the water.

"Mm hm." She sounded dazed, and her bloodshot gaze finally eased as she handed the cup to the Asian model. "Don't enjoy it too much or you can't handle the feast tonight." She winked at Drew, who looked away in disgust as she drank the water.

Annoyingly, it didn't ease the churning that didn't relent as she finished the water. However, she felt more easy as she sighed, the lingering effects of that time—that time she… _God_ , she thought, _that was sick._

"Problem in paradise?"

"Yeah, it's called Lou Ellen."

Said person snorted and looked at the time, a sardonic smile growing on their lips. "Hey, half an hour until our first dinner here—awesome, right?" Standing up, she clapped suddenly, her gaze faltering as it landed on Drew.

"What."

"You're going to look like that in front of the cameras?"

"Hey." She brushed back her stray hairs, formerly glossy and straight, now slightly frizzy and in front of her face. "You're the junkie who's suffering from murderer's withdrawal."

Lou Ellen rolled her eyes, obviously not shocked at the slightest at the mention of her bloody job and the things she did for the sake of alcohol and crime. Instead, she cleared her throat, the sunken cheeks prominent.

"Oh, please, you're the one who let the whole world know about your younger sister's rape and depression."

She grinned falsely.

"I'm not a backstabber; it's too messy."

Snorting, Drew Tanaka took a brush from the table next to her sterilized chair, brushing her hair. A few hours in this process, and she was already looking less of herself and more like someone who was cosplaying a junkie who was a skunk hybrid that lived in the slumps of New York.

She just wanted to be over with this and it wasn't even the first day in. Looking around the white room that had startling white hospital ceiling lights hanging above them, she looked at the table with disgust.

"Seriously?" she hissed under her breath but Lou Ellen caught it.

"Yeah. There's cotton balls, I have no idea what they're for. Do you know?" she asked innocently, her voice lathered with artificial sweetness. Adding on to it, she bitchfully— _that wasn't a word, but now it is_ —fluttered her eyelashes.

"No," Drew lied, the image burning in her mind.

Days—hours of it—inhaling cotton balls and washing it down with orange juice. Rulers and measurements, weights, scanning, surgeries—beauty. Obsession. Cotton balls, throwing up, your insides outside now, and toilets suffocating in the puke. Inhaling sharply, she took the note that had her name fancily written on the paper.

Opening the note, she read it.

 _no need to fancy yourself up! just leave & get ready for dinner to meet your fellow special guests!_

-1:00 AM

"Well, I mean, fuck you too," she mumbled and Lou Ellen snickered. "Fellow special guests? Like, what. More noisy reporters and shit? I didn't sign up for this—I'm just innocent, only wanting to get this over with! I don't kill people, I don't cheat, I don't scam!"

"You ruin lives; such inspiration."

She wasn't even being sarcastic; Lou Ellen relished the ideas of ruining someone's life especially if it was one of those snobby, rich models who were Barbies and envy of half the teen girl population. Drew knew how much Lou Ellen hated her and she didn't even feel remorse to say it was mutual.

Scrutinizing the pristine white tiles, she looked at the dirty slippers she was wearing and scrunched up her nose with disgust. Seriously? Ugh. She hated acting. Especially for this, with a murderer as a roommate—that must've been illegal somewhere.

"Where should we go?" Drew inquired, choking down the annoyance of having to relive that moment again. They told her they just wanted to study models and why not her, the most beautiful of them? Plus, a documentary of her—more money, win win, right?

 _Wrong._

This was getting annoying and she was only hours in. Scowling, she sucked in her breath, and turned to Lou Ellen, " _Well_?"

"This way, Your Majesty," the African American commented sarcastically, walking past Drew as she opened the door with ease, picking the lock in a second as if it was nothing. Not recoiling as it slammed against the wall, opening, she stormed off into the hallway.

"How do you know?" Drew demanded.

"Well, _darling,_ they told me once I came. I'm supposed to help you and shit, yeah?" She grinned plausibly, knowing fully well that Drew wasn't those type of people who went loner—it just wasn't her style. "So follow me if you don't want to die."

She couldn't tell if Lou Ellen was joking, but then again, the girl was incredibly morbid. Shooting the wall a dirty look, she followed her, walking past familiar a hotel-seeming hallway that was so unlike the room she awoke from.

The shabby green carpet was smooth under the thin material of the slippers and the cheap light ceiling accented the whole "I'm-On-A-Road-Trip-And-I'm-So-Fucking-Desperate" look. Surveying the hall with disgust, she followed Lou Ellen reluctantly.

Then she stopped in front of a door suddenly, with Drew close behind, slightly smirking at Lou Ellen's slight tumbling.

"What's so funny?" said girl hissed and Drew recoiled. Smug, Lou Ellen knocked on the door loudly, prideful of the fact that she even made Drew listen to her. "Open up! Open _up_ right now!" she yelled, knocking on it violently, her gloved hands making sharp contact with the dark wood that fit against her dark skin.

"Well, that's polite," Drew commented loudly, her sarcasm thick. "Wouldn't want to scare them, huh, Hun?"

"You don't even know who _they_ are, Princess. _They_ can kill you."

That shut her up, much to the delight of Lou Ellen. The door opened, revealing a thin, tall teenager that had a shifty look in his eyes. His cheekbones were high and his skin was deadly pale, with crescents under his eyes, bloodshot and scrutinizing the two girls in front of him.

His shirt was ripped across his shoulder and it was a dirty orange, large on his skinny frame as well as the blue jeans he wore.

"Hey?" his voice was scratchy and Drew looked at him with disgust at the smell of drugs that radiated from his breath. "Well? And who's the Asian?"

She recoiled at the comment, not detecting any sarcasm or signs of any racism. Trying to seem as intimidating as possible, she said, "I'm Drew Tanaka, daughter of Aphrodite, heard of me? Or by the looks at it, people don't talk about fashion where you're from?"

He locked his jaw tightly, "Where I'm from, girls like you can't survive a day."

"Can't imagine that, Hun. I mean, who heard of awful breath killing anyone?" she smiled sardonically, the words shooting at him like fire, burning up his already heated up anger. Next to her, Lou Ellen stepped between, defensive.

"Drew. Stop _it_. For fuck's sake, your bitchy attitude might have got you around places—"

"Like some guy's pants," Cecil coughed and Drew snarled at him, immediately disliking the druggie washed out ferret.

"—but not _here._ " She flashed Drew a sarcastic smile. "Because you don't want Cecil to be your enemy, unless you like the idea of being cheated off your life?"

She snorted. Him? As her enemy? _As if,_ she scoffed. He couldn't cheat people as good as her; she could practically ruin everyone's reputation with just one sentence; she could make him do anything. Smiling, she finally said, "Oh, Cecil doesn't mind, do you?"

Her silky voice was one of her greatest weapons; it was a cannon, and she knew best how to fire it. He shook his head and Lou Ellen surveyed him aghast, as if he betrayed her.

They were interrupted by someone that fell on the hallway behind Cecil. As if he knew who it was, he sighed deeply, an exasperated look on his face. Seeing it as a chance to ignore Lou Ellen, she walked past Cecil and bent down to a lanky blonde teenager that was scrawled on the floor.

When he looked up as she was crouching down, his grey eyes drowsily looking up at her, scanning her with a sort of intensity that reminded her of the genius named Athena. His blonde hair was brushed to neatness and barely reaching his ears, out of place.

His mouth opened slightly, in a wondrous sort of expression, "Why are there angels in hell?" he asked tiredly.

First thought: was this who she thought who he was? Second thought: _God, he's cute—like, really adorable, like a puppy? A golden retriever. Yeah._

"We're called beautiful devils," she replied, with a tone of amusement and flirtatious. Hey, she thought, she could use advantage of this situation? "Name?"

"Malcolm Chase?"

Well.

The little good-boy of Athena, that had an IQ almost as high as Drew's standards. Who probably was as innocent as he was intelligent. His half-sister was Annabeth Chase, and she remembered vaguely of his birth father that died of suicide from extreme pressure.

Ironic.

"Why are you here, Chase? Chasing after some dreams, as usual?" she jokingly asked.

"No—uh. Wait. _Dang it._ You're…you're Drew! Drew Tanaka! That model that—why are you even here?" Gasping, he looked away from her with shock. "You…the incident! They found out about—"

"No." Hm. Nevermind. He was seriously annoying—too smart, honestly, yelling out her business. "They want to make a documentary about me, a model." She smiled sweetly and smartly. "How about you?"

"I…I, uh, cheated." He swallowed with shame, his pale face burning with shame. "I thought I could get away with it…but…"

She crowed, hardly believing it. Golden boy? Cheating? This was hilarious! "Oh my God!" she laughed loudly. "You cheated! On what? On some practice vocabulary pre-test? Because you _studied_?"

"No. I changed my records. My legal…life records."

Holy shit. He hacked? This was insane. She could use it…huh, use it to get a ticket out of here? she thought wistfully, sneaking another flirtatious look at the boy who was laying down still. This won't be hard, she thought gleefully.

First, trick him.

She done it before to oh so many people it was hard to count now, honestly. And this bait? This would be easier than walking across a catwalk with two inch heels in bright LED lights with her mother's mouth taped.

"Well. Malcolm, I must've underestimated you then, huh?" She stood up like a swan, straight and gracefully after many years of modeling. Holding out a hand for him to take, she gripped it tightly as his weight was pushed to her, standing up clumsily with difficulty.

His hand was soft and it sent warm waves throughout her arm. God, she was so deprived of people she understood it felt foreign.

Groaning suddenly, she realized how much a few hours changed her.

His face was an infrared color as he stood up, brushing his pants. "Thanks, Drew."

Suddenly, Lou Ellen scoffed, "Well, I see you met Ms. I'm-Perfect, Malcolm. Back off, she'll probably snatch upon you like a junkie to morphine."

"Don't you know all about that?" Drew asked sweetly, her voice laced with sarcasm. Her gaze wandered around the room, spotting a small camera. She hid the pride at finding; of course there would be cameras, why wouldn't there be? They were recording them? Good. She'll give them a show.

"Yeah. We do," Cecil agreed sardonically, clearly accepting the blunt truth. "Ad you must know all about cotton balls, huh?"

Clearly, some fucked up murderer informed him that and Drew silently relished the idea of locking her hands around her throat and suffocating her. Flipping her hair, trying to shove away the thought of being embarrassed, she grinned.

An A-Model grin that brought even Malcolm blushing even though it wasn't directed about that.

"Hun, at least I know about things besides how many milligrams I should take of pills to not kill myself. Word of advice." She leaned in to Cecil, a glint in her eye that could be matched to a murderer. "Do it anyways."

There was a deadly, lingering silence before Malcolm's voice broke it, like a stop to a record: "Well, shouldn't we go eat dinner now, huh?"

.

.

.

 **a/n: first chapter in! whooop! awesome! anyways, i hope you enjoyed this chapter and story so far! the chapters will have two parts each, example:**

 **1:00 AM [legal]**

 **1:00 PM [illegal]**

 **and so on? review, favorite, and follow if you enjoyed it bc feedback would be great! allonsy!**


	3. 1:00 PM (illegal)

**_↠drew tanaka↞_**

 **[ the model ]**

SHE HAD A BAD FEELING.

Lou Ellen and Cecil led her, talking under their breaths, barely able to hear the other. Malcolm was taking in everything—his gaze would bounce to one spot and another, his look starving in some knowledge like sort of way. Occasionally she'd catch him staring at her, mumble "Sorry" sheepishly, and look at something else.

His innocence was puppy-like. An adorable kind, really. He would be like play-dough—the easiest for her to trick him and bend him to her will for a ticket out. The next time he'll look at her, she decided, she'll wink at him.

But the bad feeling—which consisted of a noose in her throat, choking it slightly with worry—was growing quickly, like a parasite. Rolling her eyes at her idiocy, silently raving about how it was unfair that Lou Ellen and Cecil were evil…they were like murderers, criminals—and about how she could trick them, then, no biggie, stop worrying…

Finally, they reached large, imposing doors that had a delta sign engraved elegantly in it. The doors were made out of a thick steel that were like roots, spreading out throughout the walls that were ancient Greek carvings.

"Finally," she grumbled loudly, as her stomach rumbled—yet less audible as she raised her voice. "I thought you were lost, _huns."_

"Oh, please, _Tanaka_ ," Lou Ellen taunted her, "if you didn't know, there's a blue design here so you won't get lost. Unfortunately for us."

(Did she have to be such a bitch? Apparently, she thought sourly.)

As if wanting to get in the Let's-Be-A-Jerk-To-Drew Day, Cecil added coolly, "Rumor has it, there's a bodyguard that would kill anyone here because when he was born, his family realized how… _deformed_ he was and sent him away here. Finally, he grew up to be a bodyguard because of a freak accident and in the nighttime if he doesn't recognize you— _he'll rip your flesh out._ "

She shivered involuntarily, but smoothened her fear down, doubt rising. That couldn't be true. Obviously. They were tricking her. Pulling her leg. Being assholes, like the one in high school who couldn't close their mouth.

 _Idiots. She wanted to rip them apart and let them wash in their own—_

Whoa. She stepped back, tripping slightly. The thoughts that entered her head calmly and smoothly as if they were her own enraged her; she was Drew Tanaka, she didn't want to kill people. Gritting her teeth and biting her lip furiously, she crossed her arms expectantly.

"Shouldn't we, uh…open it?" Malcolm inquired nervously, hesitant yet curious at the same time, staring intently at the door as if he wanted to memorize the design. Drew still couldn't believe how innocent he was, like a fawn with those wide grey eyes eager to know more or how his hand kept on, with instinct, to brush his hair back.

"Yes we should you fucking idiot," Lou Ellen hissed, rolling her eyes exasperatedly. "Do you volunteer? Hell, do you even _know_ what's in there?" The saltiness from her words radiated heavily and thickly, suffocating her with it.

"I know all the stars in alphabetical order," Malcolm whispered, barely audible to Drew, who cracked a small grin, false but it was sorta cute. Seriously? God. Dedication to whole new levels.

"Well, that's not helpful," Cecil informed him and with a jolt, Drew wondered how the _hell_ he could hear that. "Anyways, Mal is right. Just open the door, Louis, aren't you the only one that can?"

Drew, for the record, didn't like the sound of that. The sound of that sounded like harsh screeches and people suffocating, drowning in their own blood in locked closets, locked with rapidly beating hearts. _God_ , she was so fucking morbid.

Tracing the delta - yes, she knew fully well what delta was; not only because it was a brand for a famous designer but also because she wasn't stupid - design, Lou Ellen took a big step back. The door didn't creak, it didn't make a harsh sneaky noise; it just slid evenly to the insides of the walls as a large foyer was spread before them.

"Well, they could have told us that it was fancy," she commented sourly, looking down at her shabby white dress and the thin slippers that allowed her feet to feel the uneven cracks of the floor beneath her skin.

The thin, chilly air spread out through her and she shuddered mentally. Taking several steps to the foyer, she saw a large fancy table that was long, packed with various kinds of food and drinks. There were five chairs, all at the end of the room, farthest from the door.

The floor inside the foyer, though, was smooth and cool. Walls were a melting cerise color that were decorated with an arrangement of paintings of ancient Mythology, letting her eyes quickly scan the impressive art.

Lou Ellen mumbled something a bit incoherent and catching on, Drew bit back a laugh. There was music, light classical music playing - and surprisingly, it brought her back to the memories when she was a small child. It sounded like a lullaby she used to listen to.

Unknowingly, she hummed to the music, shocked she remembered it from her childhood. She barely remembered anything from her childhood, just random flashes of people taking pictures and make up everywhere, people staring at her all the time and this song.

"I know this song," she mumbled under her breath, as her hand brushed against the cherry wood of the chair, fingers tracing the material.

 _You should_ , a voice said silkily. _Drew Tanaka: Pampered and beautified ever since she was a young child, barely finished with being breastfed. Such a shame that a beautiful girl has such a—_

"Shut up," she hissed loudly, her fists clenching. Turning around to the others, she added even louder, her voice louder and more audible: "Whoever said that, _shut the fuck up_."

"I didn't do anything," Cecil replied, just as shaken, the remaining color of his face disappearing. "But when you find out give them my love."

Agreeing with him, Lou Ellen informed them with a smooth voice as if nothing happened, remarkably similar to the one Drew just heard: "They want us to sit down…and eat." The words were dull and as if she was speaking from words she was reading off a paper, Lou Ellen's expression was barely able to be read.

The tantalizing scent almost brought Drew forward but her stomach lurched at the thought. Eating in front of them, the thought of their sharp insults hitting her — and the diet…She sickened even more and queasily swallowing down her disgust, she sat down on the chair farthest from the trio.

"I'm not hungry."

"Me neither," Cecil agreed with Lou Ellen chiming in chorus.

Looking at the small pill that laid on the napkin, Malcolm inspected it slowly. His confusion was almost immediate, flashing upon his face: "It's orlistat."

 _Oh God — Oh God — Oh God — Oh God_. Her thoughts dipped into a drowning ocean of desolation and fright. She didn't…Oh _my God_ , she marveled darkly. Thoughts of girls running with fake prescriptions and false grins as they leered upon innocent pharmacy workers filled her mind.

"What the fuck?" she pretended to comment surprisingly. "What's _that_? In english, please." Shunning away Lou Ellen rolling her eyes, she let out false idiocy.

"It's medicine…a prescription—for someone who wanted higher metabolism. I don't know why they would give it to — _oh!_ " he straightened the napkin and read out loud, "For those who want to sink their sins."

"Well then give me a whole ton 'cause I got a hell lot of them," Cecil crowed, taking the pill with quick fingers, scanning it thoroughly. "Or it could be for someone else."

"Just ignore it!" Drew groaned loudly, taking it from him and throwing the pill to the other side of the room exasperatedly. "We got better stuff to do, Nancy."

"Nancy?" Lou Ellen raised her eyebrow at her sudden blurt at the name of a noisy reporter who busied herself into people's business and stealing their money. "Never heard of that before, _Cinderella_."

"Don't call me that, you brain-expired junkie," she shot back, sitting down more comfortingly and looking at the glasses of water with fake interest. The voice in her mind appeared again, only this time it was more vivd and demanding:

 _Oh, not so quick to reveal your secrets? Perhaps if it was your sister's you'd let them escape to the tabloids oh so quickly._

Fuck off, she thought sourly, but the voice — oh the annoying nasal (it sounded more silky and soothing really) voice — discarded those thoughts and continued: _No, no child. You'll_ fuck off. _We're going to do this my way, understand?_

In reply, she stuck up a middle finger in mid air, knowing she'd get strange looks. The voice in her mind chucked like, _aw! you're such a stupid little kid!_ which brought chills racing down her spine.

Her hand jerked and held the fork tightly with clumsy movements that caused her to gasp. Lou Ellen, barely blinking, said dryly, "What. Want more attention?"

"No…" she was in lost for a reply. The voice silkily reprimanded her and she bit down a sarcastic remark. The negativity swirling in her mind lost her focus as she set down the fork with more force than needed. "Can you hear the speakers?" she lied.

"What speakers? You going mad or something? 'Cause I ain't cleaning your dead body, that's for sure."

"No," Malcolm answered for her, "the thing…the voice…she's hallucinating?…but I'm hearing it — and the last time I checked my mental health is fine. Which was exactly…"—he thought for a moment—"six days ago."

"Excellent, pretty boy." Drew rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "Now I know that the most sane person wasn't _crazy_ the whole time." She brushed back her hair as she threw the fork under the table, dogging the glint in Cecil's eye.

 _Eat, EAT, EAT, EAT, EAT, EAT,_ the voice chanted in her head. _EAT, EAT, EAT. SPILL THE DRINK UPON YOUR LIPS OR A LIE WILL BE DEARLY MISSED._

"No," she mumbled with disbelief, but the others were already eating the enormous pile of food that had a tantalizing scent. "I won't." Her words barely went higher than her uneven breathing, which turned ragged as someone came walking into the room.

They were a skinny, starved man with water sliding down his skin and damping his clothing. His hair was a frayed grey and eyes that screamed hunger and desperation as his mouth was curling into a small leer. Steps were clumsy and tired as he hollered, "Give me some food, will you?"

Her hand shook above a pristine cerise apple that reflected off her face. The man turned to her, his leer growing as if he was the joker: "What a pretty girl, why are you not eating? Give me some food?"

Standing up suddenly, Malcolm raised a butter knife threateningly, "Don't!" over the sound of Lou Ellen snorting into her burger. "Who are you?" he demanded, unabated.

The man took a chair right next to Drew — _God, she could practically feel his rotten breath and his sneaky stare as he leered on her, snickering as if he knew he had power —_ and took an empty cup, swirling it around the table. "That's for you to find out, pretty boy." He slumped down, and she cringed at the bad posture.

"Answer _pretty boy_ , or I'll force an apple down your throat," Cecil hissed, clenching an apple in his fist with an evil glint in his eyes.

To all of their surprise, the man laughed — a cruel, animalistic laugh that rang throughout her ears. It sounded like the tone of someone who was practically daring you, _yes, daring you to kill me. Go on. Do it._

His lips weren't moving but he was still chanting it silently.

Hiding his shock, Cecil threw the apple with deadly aim at the man, and she prayed for it to bean him between the eyes. Barely blinking, the stranger watched as the apple disintegrated in front of their eyes and he took some water, letting them all ogle as it dried on the table cloth.

"Well? _Well_ , boy?" he taunted. "No answer? _Good._ My turn." Facing Drew, he said haughtily, "Eat, girl. _Eat_."

"N-no."

"Why? WHY?" his voice was louder, more demanding. Terrifying. Awful. A screech that tortured her much more than the stares as they all awaited her to eat. " _Tell me, Tanaka._ "

"Because I don't want to."

He laughed, a cruel harsh laugh that caused freezing water to trickle down her spine as she awaited for his reply: "Well, well. I guess we'd have to force you, huh? Or rather, force the food out? Seems pretty good for you, don't you think?"

He was interrupted by her standing up, forcing a cold snake like look to her lips. "Fuck off," she deadpanned, wishing nothing more than for him to leave. "You lying twat."

Doing what she asked the man left the room. His steps were slow, taunting and tantalizingly cruel in a way she couldn't help but shudder at. Before he closed the door behind him, his words escaped his lips and they were an erupting loud noise that dropped the temperature.

" _Start of illegal documentary: day one."_

Before anyone could ask what the hell was going on, reality whooshed out from under her feet and her head banged with pain as the room disappeared in thin air as all she could see was a blinding white light.

Then incubus.

"WHERE—OH MY GOD." She gasped mid-word. The halls were slightly wet and the lights were flickering as the ceiling lights hung dangerously low, one threatening to fall with a weak thin wire. "No. _No._ "

It was nighttime. There was loud yells coming from an open french door, revealing loud yells from a game outside. Intoxicated teenagers who risked their scholarships and permament records were drunkly limping through the halls, talking about the "Stolls and how they were _awesome_ for bringing in drinks."

She knew this party. She knew everything about it, from the vodka someone stained on the parents' bed and the gay couple coming out from singing out "My Dead, Gay Son" drunkly outside while duct taping some homophobic prude to the closet.

She knew how the throw up churned from her lipstick lathered lips to the toilet as she flushed it loudly. She knew how her sick gaze turned from the burning vodka in her stomach to the boys who looked at her like she was a piece of meat.

" _No, no…no…"_ she hissed, brushing back her hair nervously as she actually felt like she wanted to throw up, to huddle into a small hole. " _Out…out…"_ Involuntarily, he eyes went slightly watery as she recalled these exact moments.

Drew felt someone's arm around her shoulders and sneezing them comfortably, she heard Malcolm's voice drop into a whisper: "Are you okay?"

"Yes."

Giving her a strange look, Lou Ellen flicked up a middle finger to a hazy figure Drew couldn't recognize. "Where are we?" she demanded.

"Party…at…this is where— _shit!_ " she hissed, interrupted by the sight of the transparent figure of the man who leered earlier. His voice entered her mind and she shuddered at the words: _Your biography; Drew Tanaka's mental health. Illegal but who'll know?_

He winked.

She lurched over, and Malcolm crouched down, rubbing small circles on her back reassuringly. "Are you okay? Anything wrong?"

 _Well? A nice twist to this, though; y'see, we like entertainment…so why not a little, hm, cosplay?_

Blink blink blink — _this isn't real—_

She was facing a toilet. Her disgust churned inside of her. Tears stained from leaking mascara as she wiped her face, the mascara staining where her nails traced. Hair previously straightened to perfection, now a frizzy mess with tangles and brushed down her back as she leaned over.

 _Come on, Drew._

"Get out! I get it, you're probably busy but I just got a friend who I need—" the angry ranting was interrupted by her sticking down fingers down her mouth as her stomach lurched. Her hand was shaking, and her heart was beating violently.

"Get _out!_ " they yelled.

She threw up, the sick remains of the vodka she drank earlier hazing up her vision. The burning liquid was still boiling in her mind, and flushing the toilet, she went to wash her hands.

 _Good, good, you're still…you. Now, let's see, Tanaka: anorexic?_

Present self thoughts rang in her ears and her head shot up as she was washing her face with shaking hands. Freezing, she cursed. "No," she whispered softly.

 _Body Dysmorphia Disorder, then._

Why was she here? A disgusting distorted body? Reduced to throwing up and flab and oily skin? Interrupted by her thoughts, the door was knocked on loudly and someone yelled: "TEN MORE SECONDS!"

Oh. Okay…Her. Present her…here…with younger self thoughts and body. Gazing down at her flabby exterior, she bit her lip and covered her face with a towel, wiping on it hastily. "Fine, _wait_!" she replied snappily. "I'm a little busy here, yeah?"

Some snickers and sneaky words. Shunning them, Drew looked at her smudged mascara and sighed deeply. Great. Covering her face with frizzy hair, she ran out of the bathroom, ignoring catcalls. The thick scent of intoxicated teenagers was everywhere and she could still feel the throw up linger in her mouth.

Swallowing the sour taste, she searched frantically for Cecil, Lou Ellen, Malcolm — _God, where were they?_ The questions stayed as she elbowed and pushed past angry couples, teenagers, and…several teachers?

Oh, whatever; everyone knew their school, as well as the people, were all messed up. Brushing back her hair, she covered her eyes as she ran by blindly, the smeared mascara an invisible weakness.

"Hey, Drew- _y_!" she heard a familiar spiteful voice yell and Cecil grabbed onto one hand tightly as he panted heavily. "Where were you? Fuck. I was in a room with some random girl, thinking I was going to murder her. Probably would've."

"Not reassuring," she mumbled. "Bathroom. Vodka."

"Lie. But whatever. Why are we here? You lose it?" he gestured to her and she gasped loudly, aghast at the idea.

"No! Something else."

"Oh, well, sorry, Princess. But now we gotta find Mal-Culus and Louis." He seemed to be more than fond of nicknames and noticing his sudden change of eye color, she squinted. Wasn't it blue? Now…it was a muddy brown. "Something you like?"

"No. Nevermind." She straightened her posture, one hand still on her eyes. "Let's find them—"

Silence. Pure silence. It was a deadly kind that cut through and a cup spilled on the floor, crashing and the sound of breaking glass rang in her ears. People everywhere froze, mid-kiss or mid-yell or mid-song.

Then, somewhere, a voice sang through: _Drew Tanaka, confess or you'll be sent to the dead looking your best._

Cecil's body flickered and she found herself in another dim room with both Lou Ellen and Malcolm. They all stared at her with confusion as she grit her teeth tightly, refusing to tell. But dead…she wouldn't mind that — her weakness would be dead, buried six feet deep.

Somewhere, on the bed, a girl was frozen mid drink. Somewhere, in her mind, she was screaming and pleading for help.

 _—And so will your friends._

The last word was sarcastic and cynical. They both — all, in fact — knew they weren't friends. Just people caught in this mess. She was supposed to have a documentary…about her life — not this nightmare.

There was no difference, she realized.

But that did nothing to persuade the others to tell her, scream at her frantically to tell them now, it couldn't be awful.

"Please?" Malcolm pleaded desperately. "I…we never, I bet, finished everything we wanted in live…I didn't find the scientific meaning of life, and… _please_?"

Plead. Beg.

The Milligram Experiment, she thought. It was a slap to the face. But Drew was defiant. Different. Her mouth wouldn't twitch. As much as she wanted to live, her secret remained dead. Finally, the voice chanted silently: _Drew Tanaka wants to play?_

"No!" she screeched, but her attempt was useless.

Blood. A vermilion, sultry fluid gurgled out of the girl slumped on the bed as her eyes stared at empty space. Dead before, dead now. Asleep then, asleep forever. The invisible dagger impaled sharper down her chest, as a metallic scent clung to the bed and leaked through the blanket and the mattress.

She looked away.

Some magnetic force brought her face back, and tortured, she gazed at an innocent girl who died because she couldn't speak.

 _Gwen, who studied Anthropology and was an avid interest in old Rome. Scholarship to Jupiter University after a deadly casualty. Innocent. Kind. Shame she never went._

Dead dead dead — _how_?

 _"We regret to report the mysterious death of Gwendolyn Banes. No suspects for the moment, please report if you found out something," the reporter read from the paper with a dull expression._

The memory flashed. Finally, regretfully, Drew sucked in her breath and avoiding the scrutinizing she was forced to endure, she let the truth spill and gurgle painfully, like blood — haunting her.

"I — I made myself…throw up," she whispered hoarsely.

They connected the dots as she looked regretfully at the girl, wishing that was _her_ blood and wishing she herself was dead, not here with people she didn't know and secrets that were unleashed and voices that she was wanted to punch. And pride that has been wounded. Or reputations that has been ruined.

Then, knowing her reputation couldn't be ruined much farther, she sobbed silently, as watery tears escaped her eyes. Crouching down against the closet as she wiped her face, head between her legs, shaking slightly.

Her memories, her life, her secrets — _God, and a girl's life? Stupid stupid stupid. Why?_ Why did she do this because _oh, my God, can I die? Please?_ because weakness was radiating off her. She felt like a puppet with cut strings.

Like she was hollowed out and cut through, limply there to look pretty and be nothing. Nothing. Numbness.

 _Thank you, Drew Tanaka, we appreciated the first part of your biography. And we wish you the best for the future._

The lights flashed. The voice left. The haunted tension re-appeared as they stared. She looked down, scrunching up and closing her eyes so violently she couldn't see anything. _Why why why why why why?_

Until, finally, she felt warmth and someone hugging her tightly, hands wrapped around her tightly, as if she was drowning — _she was drowning_ — and her life was slipping through and her thoughts were poison. Poisoning her slowly and surely.

Their words were hushed and she could barely make them out, the soft sweet words whispered into her ear. She wished forcefully, gripping tightly to the front of their shirt, inhaling their sweet scent that smelled of fresh paper _— How?_ — and wished she could disappear and stay here forever.

The hug became tighter and so did the air, pocketing them all in. The dead girl blurred into nothing and the blood became invisible.

"You're okay…it's okay… _I'm sorry…_ " someone was whispering.

Someone was screaming, someone was crying, someone was holding tightly as they were shaking — _who was shaking? why were they shaking?_ — and that someone was her. She wished, hopefully, she didn't have to be herself and anything else.

The despair was too much, letting her drown into it.

 _"Sorry…I'm so sorry…it's okay…"_

Everything faded into black and she was still gripping tightly, her face hidden as tears escaped her. Crying wasn't private anymore, and she was sobbing full on. The voice came again now, and the words — oh the words she wanted to rip to shreds — were repeated with a dull tone.

"THE BEGINNING IS ALWAYS THE MOST PAINFUL PART TO BEAR."

And so was the truth, she thought dryly.


	4. 2:00 (legal)

**_↠lou ellen caligo↞_**

 **[ the hypnotist]**

"DON'T BE A BITCH."

Rolling her eyes, Lou Ellen scoffed. Maria, by society's standards, was extremely strange. A homosexual Hispanic twenty two year old who was openly a police officer who turned a blind eye to illegal drug trading, she had an avid obsession with old musicals

Right now, however, the adult was grimacing at Lou Ellen with a look that matched a disappointed parent. Her dark, formerly silky hair grew ragged and was in a tight, clumsy ponytail. With dark eyes that had thick eyelashes that, to Lou Ellen's grotesque imagination, looked as if a spider was crawling out of her pupils.

She told her that once, actually. Maria wasn't amused and neither was Lou Ellen when the adult punched her in the nose and blood gushed out like she had hemophilia.

"Me? A bitch?"

"Yes, you, Lou Ellen Caligo," she hissed at her, a hand up and poised, ready to slap the younger girl's face. "Thanks to you they're doubling my _shift_ because I didn't have a 'good eye' last night. Forgot 'bout those cameras. Rubbish."

Remembering that, she almost grinned but bit it down as the sneer on her face was stone. Stealing methadone from the pharmacy was incredibly enjoyable, especially since the worker fell for every trick.

"Well, too bad, Adella."

Turning rigid, said girl gave Lou Ellen a look of such hatred she was surprised she wasn't melting into the ground. Adella was Maria's birth name, but when she illegally immigrated from Mexico she turned it to Maria, which Lou Ellen found ironic in a way.

She found out when she first met her in the streets, one of them drunk and the other one sobbing and shaking violently with tears. The drunk one confided in Lou Ellen, and vice versa.

They've been tighter than a police officer's handcuffs ever since and that was about five years ago. Ever since, both grew up leaning upon a poisonous vine that curled around their hearts, and their minds.

" _Lou fucking Ellen_ , I can arrest you."

Right. Ah. Scratching her hair with mock confusion, Lou Ellen sheepishly sighed, "Fine. Anyway, not my fault that pharmacy worker was so _loud._ Like, I'm pretty sure my dead mom can hear her." She didn't even flinch; formerly, that was a sore topic but now she showed it off like it was a broken bone.

"My mama would probably slap you." Her thick Hispanic and Mexican accent still permanently slipped through her tongue, mingling with the words. "Then she'd take out her broom and slap your ass with it."

"She'd love me."

"Don't embarrass yourself. She only loves me because I have such a _good_ job. Now, are you Miranda?"

"Miranda? Who's that? Your girlfriend or your crush?"

"Miranda Rights," Maria informed her, rolling her eyes like, _God, I'm talking to an idiot._ "The right, as you idiots may know, to remain silent."

"Oh. Ah. I have a right to illegally steal drugs and trade them…?" trailing off, she noticed the police officer face palming herself, rolling her eyes. "Oh, shut up, you're the most ironic person I met. You know that?"

A police officer who worked for the law was a leader in breaking it. _Adella_ was lucky she didn't have any drugs in her blood when they drug-tested her for job, and a permament record that was like Lou Ellen's, stained with black marks entirely.

"Please. Without me, you'd be in jail for your whole entire life."

"So… _true._ I mean, my cells would be next to a rapist and an arsonist, am I right?"

"An arsonist came in a few days earlier, but they broke out," Maria deadpanned. "Name was Leo and looked like the Santa's elf that'd store tampons in naughty kids' stockings. Pranked one of the jail-guards by tricking them into thinking 'e was pregnant."

"How…?"

"Told t'em 'e was a transgender, apparently. And he was 'breaking water.'" Rolling her eyes at the idiocy of people that worked at the jail, she continued with the previous subject: "Anyway, I got a double shift so I can't be in it tonight. Party with yourself or whatever."

Gaping at who could be both a friend an annoying older sister, Lou Ellen protested, "No! I need a cover-up to go to that nightclub! C'mon! An eighteen year old can't _drink_!"

"'ow dense are you if you don't know fake ID cards exist?"

"Seriously? Betting there's hot chicks there! No? They'd be drunk so they wouldn't really care if—" she was cut off by Maria cursing in Spanish and leaving, slamming the door behind her. What did she say wrong? Hell, Maria _was_ lucky if she could get someone even drunk.

Shrugging it off with difficulty, she gave a quick look at the fake ID card she kept taping inside her jacket at all times so it'd not disappear or be stained of the blood like many of her clothes once she was finished with her work.

She, Lou Ellen, lived in a foster home with the most dense and annoying couple ever. They adopted her only for social occasions and ignored her for the other half of the time, barely blinking an eye when she got a scholarship to a decent college.

Obviously, she denied it. She got way more money by drug trading and murdering those who people wanted murdered. Suer she was stuck in a mired situation by society's standards and it was annoying explaining to her family why her clothes was stained with red 'paint' or why her clothes emitted a corpse-like smell.

Even worse, her father's friends were familiar with the smell of drugs — which she found out quite a while ago — and she had to cover it up as a boyfriend who used drugs who she also dumped earlier. Thankfully, they accepted the lie much to her relief.

Now, lying about murder might be easier: _"I had my…uh, period."_

The words and the reaction she might've got would've been incredibly entertaining, and not to mention that even the most incredulous of them would be able to fall for it? Whatever. Anyway, Lou Ellen, at the moment, was dreaming about how she was going to bash Maria's head in for ditching her.

Asshole.

 **[arrival reason : signified]**

IT CAME OFF AS A SURPRISE THAT SHE HAD A HEART.

But alas, Drew Tanaka, all time spoiled model had a heart. But what made Lou Ellen laugh, was how _selfish_ she was to keep her secret even after a girl had been murdered for her sake. How could you murder someone, an innocent girl, just for the sake of a secret.

She tasted her lie and if felt bitter.

Damn. Lou Ellen was hypocritical, wasn't she. But it wasn't only her fault, there was also those too many lives she had a tendency to remember with thick anxiety at nighttime. Rolling around the bed tiredly, blinking rabidly as if she would feel less tired faster.

However, she just slumped back to the bed and inhaled the softness of the pillow. After that uneventful, ah, 'adventure' Drew was in a separate room from Lou — much to her pleasure — and so she could live without someone else in her room.

Maybe it was because she was such an introvert but Lou Ellen felt uncomfortable with other people. They were too confusing and too unpredictable and too mercurial. But that wasn't the only reason she disliked humanity too much.

Perhaps it was because they were too egotistic or complete bastards that she wouldn't have minded bashing their heads in. She found the idea slightly amusing and a maniacal smile grew on her lips as she adjusted herself on the bed, wrapping the blanket tighter around her.

Remembering Maria, she choked back a small whine. Maria would slap her, tell her to get up, and make sure she gave them an intimidating girl who they shouldn't ever cross unless they wanted to be burnt.

Someone opened the door and she automatically jerked up, her gaze glued to where the door was formerly closed. In its place stood a lanky, not-yet-out-of-puberty teenager with a shifty look in his eyes.

She was _so_ familiar with junkies like him; but then again, she was a junkie herself. Lou Ellen Caligo, one of the greatest junkies of all time.

When he leaned against the door frame, his dark hair disheveled and contrasting with his bloodshot eyes, she didn't find it difficult to appear angry. There was a beating headache in her head and a thick desire that was causing her to grit her teeth.

Lou Ellen needed morphine, methadone, _anything_ — bad.

"Out," she hissed.

"What? Somethin' wrong?"

"Yes. You. So leave, Message Man, before I go rip your ugly face apart." Which was a lie, of course. He made the junkie look work. Annoyingly. with a small glint in his eyes and a grin that reminded her all too much of home, Lou Ellen knew her types were messed-up.

"Message Man? Clever."

"Why are you here?"

"I'm here because I'm the most useless and heartless of us all. Therefore, they think I'm your perfect match." He shrugged and she noted the bitter tone in his voice. He was a mirage, in a way, because she saw through the blue eye contacts that covered muddy brown eyes.

"Well, fine, just fuck off unless you want me to shove this pillow down your throat, you goddamn asshat," she cursed, throwing the pillow at him limply with a sore aim. "Give me five minutes and morphine while you're at it, yeah?"

Chucking the pillow back at her, chucking darkly, Cecil rolled his eyes — _blue brown blue brown blue brown —_ and shrugged. "Five minutes — none more, Louis," he informed her as she rubbed her forehead, the weight of the bags under her eyes heavier than usual.

As she shot a look at the now closed door, she hesitantly left the bed, every step weighing her down as she wished she was sleeping. 'Course, Lou Ellen realized, they'd probably dump several gallons of water colder than her heart on her if she went back to bed.

Taking a cup of clear liquid, she gazed long and hard at it. After years of mistrusting people, she won't drink — just simply drink from a cup that she sees. So she just dumps it on the tiles, watching as the water splashes to the ground.

"Make it clean water, please," she croaked to nothing, but the plastic cup just looked right back at her as if to ask she was mentally sick. Much to her relief, nothing happened as she wiped the dust off her eyes feeling as if she just had a hangover.

 _"Karma's gonna hit you like a hangover and like alcohol, you'll be drunk in it_."

The words of Adella flashed in her mind and Lou Ellen sucked in her breath harshly as she crumbles the cup and throws it across the room. There's a note on the table, too, she realizes. Cautiously bringing it up, she read it slowly, horror magnifying as her mouth widened.

 _hello! we need to ask your questions so please present yourself accordingly! for your own comfort no one else will come along with you! we hope you'll answer honestly!_

 _\- 2:00 am_

Honesty my ass, she thought sourly, ripping the paper and letting it fall, soaked and dampened by the clear liquid she knew wasn't water in any way. Were they seriously thinking she was going to fall for their stupid, genius tricks?

Apparently, they did. Whatever. She knew where everything was, every room in this place unfortunately, except for the entrance.

LOU ELLEN WAS EXPECTING a creepy stereotypical scientist who would tell her that she was stupid. Unfortunately, she wasn't far from her suspicions. The person sitting in front of her reminded her of a psychologist — and yes, she was familiar with many, thank you for being nosy — with the glasses that was at the tip of the nose and the leer that told her, _you're a stupid bitch._

She 'accidentally' snorted out loud, slipping out of her as if it was an accident. He gave her an angry look as if he didn't even volunteer to be here but hey, she didn't either.

Clearing his throat, the 'physiologist' shifted around in his seat, clearing his throat once again. There was a tablet on his lap and had a heavy build, with a neck built like a lego. With a stony gaze and his lips pursed in a tight line, he gave off an impression of the student who would remind the teacher in a mind-numbing field trip that no one was allowed to go to the gift shop.

(Honestly, why _else_ would people would go to the field trip?)

"Hello," he greeted slowly, bringing one hand up in an awkward wave that she misplaced as raising his hand. "I am here to question you about your past for the documentary."

"Hello," she mimicked. "I murdered more people than your retarded five year old baby can count."

His jaw tightened. There was a glint in his eyes now, and Lou Ellen suspected his anger was taut and not unlike a rubber band, ready to snap at any moment. Good, she thought. Snap.

"Now, look here, missy, you may think—"

"Don't call me missy," she mocked, smoothing out the thin material of her skirt out as she slumped. "I am not your friend, nor am I your daughter."

"This is _being recorded_ ," he hissed at her, his voice barely audible as the corner of her lips turned up into a mischievous smirk. "So I suggest—"

"He's assaulting me!" she screeched loudly, getting up, a plan forming in her head, blossoming like a poisonous flower. "HE TOLD ME HE'S GOING TO RAPE ME IN—"

"Shut _up_!" he yelled at her, dropping the tablet as he took her shoulders, gripping them tightly. "Do you _want to_ get arrested?"

"As a matter of fact," she replied smartly, pushing him away as he stumbled back. Her head was banging but that was fading to the back of her mind as the grin widened, "I don't _care._ "

"You…you are—"

"SAVE ME! HE'S GOING TO ASSAULT ME! HE JUST _WHISPERED_ ABOUT HOW—" she stopped mid sentence, pausing for a moment to rub her raspy throat. The camera she noticed at the corner of her eye started blinking a more burgundy red light that shone brighter and brighter.

"You…you idiot," he rasped. "You are _so_ going to…going to…" stopping, he sat down with forced calmness, a cobra stuck in a cage. Tightly gripping the tablet now, picking it up, he exhaled sharply. "I'll start again. Please _pay_ attention this time or you will have extreme consenquences."

Groaning as if he just told her that he believed Donald Trump would make America great again, she brushed her unruly hair back. Sometimes there was no explaining with idiots like these, but then again, she did know she was the problem.

"Oh? Like what? Being your girlfriend? Don't think that's legal."

"As a matter of fact, you're seventeen and turning eighteen in a few weeks, so…" he trailed off, shameful, his eyes turning a vibrant red from nervousness. "Nevermind. You're annoying, anyways, so don't think—"

She laughed loudly, a hysterical maniacal laugh that erupted from her throat. He was an idiot, wasn't he? An adolescent in an adult's body who was unaware of how much she could notice. For a moment, she was reminded of Drew Tanaka but there was a difference. Always was, wasn't there?

She bit down a sardonic reply as a large beeping sound starts. It grew louder and louder, piercing her ears; the man, however, sat still with a large, vile — in her opinion — grin spreading around his face. Momentarily there was a silence and he shoved the tablet on her lap.

On it was a video.

A video, more specifically, of a familiar tall lesbian who she too often hugged and too often tricked and lied too, a poisonous friendship. It…it was an application. A nervous, tall girl talking about how she wanted to serve the law ( _lie lie lie lie lie_ — they laughed about it with each other) and that she does not drink a lot, does not take drugs…

Lou Ellen's insides churned and she felt bile rise up her throat as she looked at the man who gave her a grin of satire as she continued watching it.

Then it transitioned into something else. The same girl, older now with the scars of former acne and dark shadows beneath her lies. She had a negative aura around her and wore prisoner clothing, with her hair in dark clumps, cut short right under her ear.

And…and she was talking: "It's…it's not my fault…you all expected me — _hiccup!_ — to…to break the law. And…someone…they did something to me — forced their…" she trailed off, tears staining her face and eyes bloodshot.

Her stomach churning and a noose tightening around her gut, Lou Ellen remembered exactly what she was talking about.

"…they did it to my friend, I mean…I wanted revenge on them. Is that too much to ask? No! So fuck—!" the video stopped, her daring eyes burning to the back of her mind as she rubbed her forehead, all thoughts of a headache and withdrawn forgotten as she remembered her friend…

"Drug addict." He grinned sadistically and it scalded into her soul. "But we'll get into more on that later. What kind of drugs did you use to ruin your mental health?"

"Morphine. Methadone. Celexa. Zoloft. Lunesta. Rozerem. Naproxen. Prozac. Paxil. Etcetera." She gained sarcastically at him, not faltering at all at the list of drugs and fake prescriptions over the years — of course, it's not all, much to his displeasure.

"Mm hm. Insomnia, depression, pain, anxiety…thank you very much for your help — it shall be much appreciated." He grimaced at her, an angry glint in his eyes and she's fully aware of how much he hates her. "And I hope you'll enjoy the show and break an arm."

She recoiled. How? How? ….How could they know that secret — that secret, that small joke — she kept with her first boyfriend. A guy who was obsessed with musicals and music, who would cheerfully laugh along with her and play his saxophone constantly, earning more views on Youtube until he became famous.

Left her. And forgot about her.

And they had a joke. For performances she would tell him to break an arm, and he would laugh along as he would leave for gigs and—

Painful. All too painful. Austin. Stop it. Nope. She wants drugs. She needs it right now, to relieve from the painful memories that scald against her skin, painfully gashing along wounds that are salted open right now.

"Break an arm, Lou Ellen. Because this is going to be your biggest performance yet."


	5. 2:00 PM (illegal)

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

↠lou ellen caligo↞ [ the fucked up hypnotist] +++

SHE STARED AT THE WALL with self-repulsion.

It was a creamy white mind color that was bland and repetitive. Not shockingly, she could barely manage it for a good few seconds until she left the bed. Feeling as if she was less of a human and more of a zombie, with her insides churning superficially as if it was cake batter

Then she stood up, her legs taking her nowhere as she looked at the note that seemed to melt through the table. Blood coated the corners of it, vermilion fluid dried and flecks touching her skin. Curiously thinking of whose it belongs to for a few seconds, she reads the note bitterly.

now that wasn't so bad but now it will be worse hmmm?

2:00 PM

Her words froze mid-thought in her mind. The questions carried on with torture, and the man certainly enjoyed every sadistic moment of it. Surely, if she was a masochist she might enjoy this? But now all she could do was spit at the note and crumble it in her fist.

It didn't make her feel better. It brought an ailing feeling in her gut as she swallowed. There was no point to it, no point to it all, to torture someone like her — to force out answers to questions. The worst thing of it all, was that she had to.

They told her that the questions and answers for her and Drew Tanaka were unofficial. Just as it would be for Malcolm and Cecil — then they'd start with the official biographies after they had scrambles — mind maps — for them all to adjust. So far, she was ready to kill them — to let their blood wash against the tiles…

In fact, she should.

Screw this, she said to herself angrily. She'll make sure he'd die and his organs gutted out, blood smearing her face and she'll wipe it over his family's faces, lying and telling them it'll make them live together. That's good. Very good. She likes that thought more than she should right now, the thought of killing him.

Lou Ellen was murderous, she was dangerous, and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that to her.

Lou Ellen was murderous, she was dangerous, and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that to her. There was nothing to do with her because there was nothing about her that was a problem. She was just your average hypnotism junkie who murdered people because she had awful anger management?

Okay, perhaps not. Perhaps it wasn't anger, no, it was something deeper and darker. The lust to kill, the satisfaction of seeing someone else than her suffer. As if there was a way of gnawing and digging out the emotions and lives of others would fill her up in a way; however, that probably wasn't the most rational thing ever. Feeling the warm blood of a once living person on her skin. Yeah, the feeling of killing, that was she had a problem with. Because she loved it, she rode on the tidal waves of the wave, it was like cocaine, but better, and yet it never seemed to last long.

And then another murder will be committed, another person will die begging for the life, and all she would ever do was laugh. Because what better way what to hide the pain, the pain it secretly caused her, then by smiling? She wanted to stop, she wanted to be something else, but society and her past had made her to this, and no it was too late. She loved this too much, and there was no going back.

The sound of alarms came; she jerked.

Already reminiscing her dreaded sophomore and freshman years where people snuck into higher graders' parties and faked as if they were rich wanna-be's, only all of them (or most of them) to be underachievers; although, in where she lived, she lived with the most racist, homophobic, white kids she've ever met in her seventeen year life-span where people rejected Donald Trump, anyways.

There was some silver lining in it. The parties she never went to (too small, too stupid, too risky) were almost caught by police officers and people that had to go to hospitals and people that were suspended or expelled for bringing cigarettes and drugs to school. Sometimes. Rarely. The town was cheap and poor; she figured the police barely cared.

Who would?

Maria informed her once she was stupid to go there, thinking America was at least better than Mexico, unlike where she lived. On her second day, she got in detention already from too many warnings (too many teachers, too many rules, too many of it all) for punching someone's nose for telling her she was a terrorist.

Lou Ellen was in detention in the same day for being framed with the container of Zoloft pills in her backpack that someone in P.E discovered, as they ran upon it 'on accident.' The teacher was probably a laid-back asshole, she contemplated, one of those who smoked behind the school.

Her school: despicable. People: cynical. Her: the effect. Them all: rubbish. Honestly, sometimes Lou Ellen thought that students were not students; oh no, they were sociopaths and five year olds on drugs disguised as teenagers. Did she hate them? On the contrary, there was no word to describe those who she had to sit next to in class with or watch with loathing as they slipped notes inside desks and lockers with secret leers.

Only actions. Only tricks and sleeves that hid more than skin. Only blood and only hate, the glint in her eyes and the hysteric laughter that would always bubble up her throat and the blood that saturated through her clothing. Only Lou Ellen and tricks and mist and knives and messy deaths.

She was, on the contrary, completely twisted, contemplating on several ways she could kill the man as her fingers slipped between the blade, the cool steel pressed against her skin. The rooms were countless and halls that would trick you with every corridor and doctors and scientists that she would ignore. Frames of awards and windows that led out into a starless night, lightened by the bright lights and the flashlights and cars.

No one noticed her.

No one should.

Lou Ellen developed a trick over the years, to not be noticed. To melt into the air, to make sure she wouldn't have been noticed. To slip through crowds and police officers with the aroma of drugs and alcohol clinging to her, disappearing in a blink of the eye as cliche as that sounded.

This time, however, she was interrupted. Noticed, as you may like to call it. Someone, a tall angry someone with a hand that tightly gripped to her wrist as she swerved around with surprise. (Note: she was almost never surprised.) Their nails burned into her flesh as they scanned her, a gaze saturated with anger and suspicion.

"Who are you?"

"The devil's daughter," she replied hastily, shooting a grin of satire. "He told me that you're going to hell."

"Lou Ellen Caligo," they recited, their voice stony with grit teeth as they glowered at her. He had a hot temper, she realized, almost as hot as the angry fire in his eyes. "As lovely your sarcasm is, I wouldn't mind you disembodied and cut up as if you were a Greek kabab." "Greek?" she repeated, her stare straying to the muscles and the thick leather attire with a gun — she's not aware of what type — in his pocket, facing her dangerously.

"You. Are. Greek. You. Idiot," he deadpanned. "Or did you neglect your ancestry as you did your studies?" he inquired, a smile tugging at his lips, watching her snap.

She slapped him, unable to control herself as her palm made sharp contact with his cheek. Satisfying, she silently noted. But he was dangerous, risky, a dragon with fire gnawing up their throat with some blowing out of their nostrils; and as amusing that sounded with others, for him it was terrifying. God. She was stupid.

"Not as much," she started, leaning up to his preposterously tall height, fanning in front of her mouth mockingly, "as you neglected your breath." "You small…fucking skank, I will rip you apart and apart," he hissed, his voice a lion roaring, "and when I am finished with you, you will be endlessly screaming."

"Oh God, you could use some Colgate. Fun fact: it means hang yourself in Spanish. A two-in-one-deal, ain't that pretty?"

His mouth opened, slack with surprise, ready to shot back an insult. Cut off by someone yelling loudly, waving their hands aimlessly and frantically as they struggled not to trip. Breathing erratically as if they just finished chasing down a five year old on steroids, the woman was seemingly petite with a tight smile and bright white teeth more fake than the dark curls that had blonde roots as her grey eyes took a quick look at Lou Ellen.

Formerly tan, she took a turn for the fake, it seemed to be. Supposably all for someone, for who it was unclear, but Lou Ellen was sure the woman wasn't always like this in her life. It seemed to stop the tall, imposing man as she started:

"Hello, Lou Ellen. You are the few of the country. As a matter of fact, the world. Now, before I begin, you must realize that you are late."

"Cool."

"You. Are. Late," she informed her. "We are all waiting for you out on the roof."

"The roof?" What was this bitch thinking? Honestly? If they knew Lou Ellen, they would know that she was ready to murder some dude because she was facing withdrawal right now, and on a desperate fix. An itch that was crawling up her spine, causing her to feel jittery and unfamiliar.

"Yes. To begin your documentary. It is a lovely place, is it not?"

"You are a lovely stereotype, are you not? How much did it cost to dye your hair? Cheap, huh? Still blonde. Still blonde." She didn't know why she was insulting her like this. All of a sudden. All bitterly and angrily. The woman, so far, had done nothing…except work here. She was a worker here. A scientist, a neurologist perhaps, one of those studied and made it possible for Lou Ellen to be here. Bitter, salty words spilling out and she couldn't stop.

She would not stop.

"Excuse me?"

"Really. Once a stupid blonde always a stupid blonde."

Memories flashed in her mind. She thought of the girl who came along with her in the pharmacy, a fellow junkie with raggedy blonde hair that hung limply down her back and a prominent rip cage as she bought diet pills and methadone, who died, a suicide hidden and buried among the dump behind the pharmacy.

Lou Ellen blinked back the thoughts; the woman grimaced at her. "Listen here. I do not mean any harm to you but if you want to go that way…then go that way, nothing but you and your death is stopping you. Really."

Somehow, the woman was unnerving enough that Lou Ellen listened to her. And thirty minutes later, avoiding the intense glowers of her 'fellow peers,' she found her legs hanging off a dangerously high roof. The foundation felt unstable and the wind blowing loudly through her ears, the deja vu was too real-like and familiar, it couldn't have been a coincidence.

(Note: Lou Ellen noticed every small strange things, and this indeed was strange.)

"This," she stated, "is illegal."

"No shit," the woman commented, rolling her eyes as if she was talking to a retarded seven year old who couldn't yet understand why their classmates didn't like them. "What did you except this to me? Child-proof? Honey, it was hard enough to get it fireproof."

"I will jump off this roof. I swear."

"Do it!" the woman laughed at her. "Do you think it'll affect anything? You won't. You're afraid. You're just an attention seeker, Caligo. Admit it."

Her stomach churned and her head dipped, as her hair fell over her face, a curtain concealing emotions she was glad the blonde bitch didn't notice. No. That wasn't true. But why did that feel so true and sick?

"Attention seeker! One, two, karma's coming for you! Three, four, Lou is an attention whore! Five six, she's gonna throw a fake fit!"

Clenching her fists, looking back to see the three in deep conversation. Their bodies were hiding whatever was the big fuss was. The woman — doctor, bitch, afflicted with Satan — smiled sadistically at her, handing her a packet. "Read it," she demanded.

Scowling, Lou Ellen snatched it away from her and read it. It was a drug test, blood test, and a final note from an addiction specialist at the end. They're clearly disappointed by her, claiming she was affected by what Lou Ellen summarized as a "shitty past and stupid, pressuring fake friends."

"Irrelevant," she sharply commented.

"Oh no, see…all four of you have IR negative blood type. You see, this is one of the rarest blood types in the world."

"IR?" she had never heard of this blood type; this was entirely foreign to her. She barely knew any blood types but this didn't strike her as familiar. "What's that?"

"IR." The woman smiled smugly, patting her hands against her thighs as a glint in her eyes revealed something sinister beneath. "Otherwise known as ichor, blood of the gods. Negative because you do not have Rh protein in any of your blood cells, because this blood isn't from inheritance. Rather it's a donor." "Donor?" she repeated.

"Donor. Because your blood was dirty and disgusting, are you aware of that? It's only because of that you managed to feed yourself so many drugs and disgusting pills. It's because of that donor Drew Tanaka does not look emancipated, but rather, healthy and beautiful. It's because of that—"

"I get it." She sharply cut her off. The height from the roof to the ground was tantalizingly tempting, sweet poisonous honey, and she wanted to jump off. "What does IR do to you?"

"Rather…well, all blood types do different things to you. IR gives you so much more than the average human. Example: Drew is highly persuasive, what I would like to call a charm speaker, yes? After her BDD she lost lots of blood and after her donor…well. Malcolm had high intelligence before but now he'll be able to tell anything about everything." She grinned with pride as if she was an older sister seeing her brother off for Harvard. "Cecil is highly cynical but tricky, in a way, that he'd be able to trick you to doing anything — not like Drew, of course."

"Why are you telling me this?" she demanded, standing up and fumbling slightly, pebbles falling to the ground. "I don't want to know!" A loud angry screech. It pierced her ears and she saw a flicker of loathing as the woman bristled, but continued, a stony figure.

"IR means you are cynical, untrustworthy. It means you are superior and powerful. It means we have access to your mind. It means your childhood is nothing. It means you're barely human. How does it feel? To feel like…a god?"

"I-I'm not…I failed my classes…I didn't…I'm…" her words were leaving her, slipping out of her, an essence leaving her, wringing out of meaning and knowledge; finally, all at once, they come to her and she straightens herself. "So you're saying I'm better and stronger and more than you."

She tsk'ed the younger girl. The doctor was far more superior in the age department, however a few years seemed to stretch as her eyes glinted with smugness at the unfortunate mire of Lou Ellen. "Oh no, you are simply someone interesting…someone more. See, we had to convince the people this is for a documentary for you all and an excuse to, ah, make sure this won't fuck up like the other time."

"What happened?" she inquired slowly and hesitantly.

"First, Lou Ellen, you need to face your past and that is down there." The woman gestured down to the ground, the wind whistling sharply in their ears. "Go on, Lou Ellen. Jump."

Swallowing, she gave the woman a disbelieving look but it was tempting. A jump. Perhaps just a slip and a trip, she could've lied and said anything that she wasn't even slightly tempting. Breathe in, breathe out. Stand up; look down.

Lou Ellen jumped; the wind sang in her ears, a familiar lullaby.

"EXPLAIN THIS," someone next to her hissed quietly, elbowing her in the ribs as she let out an annoyed yelp. It was Cecil. His hair was messily sticking up in all directions with a G-Eazy shirt that she found almost amusing. "I…what do you…where the hell are we?"

Looking around, she felt her insides churn, bile rising up her throat. The sick feeling pulled at her gut as she tried to manage an impassive expression. They were in a therapist's office and everything was frozen in time. The therapist was hunched over, mid-writing, their hand frozen in movement; she flinched.

Oh God. It even smelled the same. The chlorine mingling with the hand sanitizer aroma that clung to the air, desperately and slowly fading. The door was locked, windows open by just a crack, letting out a small breeze.

"The therapist. Huh. Never knew," he mumbled, half-amused sounding.

"Shut up, you're the one who's wearing a G-Eazy shirt," she argued, shooting back at him. "Like, what the fuck even anyways is it with that? Bet you can't even rap."

He shrunk back and for a fleeting moment she felt bad. A grimace grew on his face and he snorted, "So? You're a toilet who can't even flush its own shit. So why don't you stop because I was joking and it's called trying to be a friend." Getting up from the chair, he shot her a negative look and went to the door.

Knowing fully well what was going to happen, she just slumped back, a hint of a smirk lingering on her lips that she faked. Useless. He was just going to find nothing there and she hoped he would let out the most vulgar of language because that'd mean he quit.

"What the hell is wrong with this door?"

"Mmm…" she hummed, looking out into the starry night and the cocaine that she played with mindlessly, the white flecks that she licked with relish. "You tell me, C-Eacy." Lou Ellen's mind felt almost unbalanced, almost tittering as she licked some more, Cecil looking more like something else — like a cartoon.

"Stop it. What's going on?"

"I need travesty, I'm a walking travesty!" she sang loudly, waving her arms around ridiculously. "You tell me, Wendell! You're the one who cheats people here, not me!"

"You're a freaking murderer who takes drugs and makes people believe what they want, so shut up!" he yelled loudly, his fists clenching as anger glittered in his eyes. "God! Lou Ellen, just tell me so I won't die like that other will, will you?"

"Therapist's office. I tricked a girl to believe that she'd find her older sibling in the bottom of the cliff and she jumped to her death, leading her under the mist so she would die. Her father's rich. Impressive. Despite that he gave birth to a 'mistake,' as he always said, he made sure I went to therapy and to court." She shrugged lightly, remembering her with the fondness a child would of their birthday cake.

"And why is this such a nightmare? What exactly happened here?"

Everything unfroze and her mind settled. He disappeared, fading away and the therapist melted into posture as he turned around to Lou Ellen, two minds and two girls in one body. A mess, a bloody, leaking mess as she bristled.

"How are you feeling today?"

"Okay. I only got kicked out of P.E today, I guess."

"And why's that?"

"Teacher's an arse. He got pissed I was wearing a hat in class even though it's almost the end of the year. Told him no and he blew up." Shrug. Fake. Comment. Barely register the surprise flicking on his face. "What's wrong?"

(Fake fake fake fake fake. Younger her was stupid. Really stupid.)

"Lou Ellen. Many things. Why can't you follow rules and become a better person?"

"That's not what you said when your son called me 'habibti,'" she commented, remembering the prepubescent eight grader that picked up several phrases in Arabic after ISIS and people in his grade were idiots, thinking that they'd be able to understand 'terrorists.' She met him yesterday and he was contrasting the existence of his father and she relished in the irony of it all that he was troubled.

"Understandable. After all, he has classmates that obsess over terrorists," the man explained, taking out the notepad and setting it on his lap, eye-level for a few moments. "Now, will you please do something for me?"

"Sure."

(Excuse. Younger her was going to go away and skip and try to walk all the way back home, contemplating how she was going to leave.)

She stood up; he told her what he wanted from the front desk, tapping the pen repetitively against the paper. Nodding, she left the room and that's where all hell broke loose. A person, a wild, red-haired girl with vibrant green eyes was wriggling on the floor, gripping tightly to her knees as she shook.

"Idiot." She felt herself settle into her present self, memories spilling through as she gave the girl a judgmental look. Perhaps she should comfort her because she was a freak but instead she laughed loudly. "What's wrong with you?"

(She wanted to run. She was shaking. Frightful. But the smirk lingered.)

No one should help you up when you fall down, you'll just depend on them all the time; but if you learn how to get up on your own you'll be stronger. That was her theory. Whatever. But the devils weren't done and along with the girl, there was a gun she fumbled in her hands as she shot the ceiling.

"UNSTABLE! CALL THE POLICE!" someone yelled but before they could say anything else, the girl shot them and they'll limp, blood — a vermilion fluid that was saturated with humanity, spilling and tumbling — that glut out. A faint scream left their lips as blood stained through the carpet.

Oh God. This girl. Right. She was facing her right now. Cotton was lodged in her throat and she felt her skin pale as she staggered back. This was what she hated. Rachel Elizabeth Dare, the rich girl. Who also shot seven people, her mind supplied, though violent hallucinations and…and something else that happened in a drunken night.

Couldn't remember much, but wasn't she…full of something? Something they couldn't register, something that brought her into a frenzy like this…

She ran. The girl shot once again and a bullet flied past her, zipping through the air as she let out a high pitched soprano in a similar tone as a lullaby she heard before. Finally swerving to the right, she locked herself inside a room, breathing heavily.

What happened before? What the hell happened before? Hmm…something…Fumbling with the lock as bullets rang through the door she finally turned on the lights, illuminating the former pitch darkness.

"What's going on?" someone asked sharply. Drew. She couldn't say she didn't miss that sweet ol' cynical bitch. "I heard guns and ran in here. Who is it?"

"Robert Durst," she answered automatically, scoffing. Obviously the other would register would register her sarcasm, and that was exactly what she was hoping for. "No, Tanaka, it's Lou Ellen and that psycho out there is killing people."

"Angry girlfriend?"

She sighed angrily, running a hand through her hair as she slumped down against the door, "No, you fucking homophobe. She's Rachel, the girl who went mad because of an overdose of some drug. Forgot what it is and I really don't care. Anyways, they finally tie her up but I don't know why we're here…it's not practically scarring."

"First off, I'm bisexual. Secondly. How? She's shooting everyone and people and it's really disturbing. How old are you in this?"

"Fourteen or fifteen," she answered as loud screaming erupted from outside. Almost immediately, a voice whispered in her mind: excellent, so Lou Ellen, what exactly made Rachel kill them? And why don't we spice it up a bit?

She had a nasty feeling that spicing it up a bit wasn't meaning to get BBQ sauce. And also, she was going mad and the voice was clearly in her head. Out of instinct, she brought her hand to her head but before she could do anything else then came the door.

First came out loud, banging knocks as she staggered back; then arrived a door that came flying open, the screws coming loose and someone standing there, their leg mid-kick. Standing there was a tall girl with fiery red hair and green eyes with a pistol gripped tightly in her hand. What was the most terrifying, and loudly so, was the singing that left her lips in a deranged tone and words that escaped a muddled mess.

She didn't remember this. She should've, would've, most definitely remembered this; but the girl didn't shoot her, because Lou Ellen just left and ran off to where she found a discarded can of beer that, without thought chugged on it, even though it left a bitter fiery taste down her throat

That's it.

Out of reminisce, she jumped up, but the girl kept her gun trained on Lou Ellen, her hands shaking slightly. Drew Tanaka was sprouting out curse words in a foreign language as her dark eyes scrunched up in annoyance and confusion. Finally, Rachel, who took a few cautious steps, swaying slightly, she dropped the gun, a loud plop as it hit the ground.

"Lou Ellen." Her name floated in the air, cautious and magical in the deadly way. The girl treated it gingerly and with awe as she took several steps.

"Yes. That's me. Unless we're, like, talking about some crime I may've not done. Then no. It's not me. Unless I inherited lots of money from a rich family member." There was a cotton lodged in her throat; she ignored it.

"Thirty three days, thirty three secrets,

Sixty six stories, and four people's weakness,

Sixty six years before, torturous treatment,

Boys, girls, all cheating death quiet recent."

Someone grabbed the girl from behind before Lou Ellen could fully register the words; but they repeated in her mind, a deranged song lullaby as Rachel was pulled back by a tall, buff boy with a rainbow with a rainbow tattoo. Before he could pull her out, both of the girls rooted with shock, Rachel woke up first and swerved around with deadly speed as both of her hands locked around his throat.

You have precisely four minutes until he dies. Two until he suffers extreme brain damage. Now, Lou Ellen, please enlighten us: why, exactly, did you run away?

Surely, she was not the only one who heard it. And the boy wasn't the only one who was tortured. The girl must've said something wrong because wounds, all countless, appearing on her skin and bleeding profusely as her hands weakened, still intact on his throat as his pupils rolled back.

"What did she mean?" she whispered.

Nothing. But if you'd like to waste your time playing with a ridiculous lullaby, then you can. But tell us: why did you run away?

The voice, a woman's voice, boomed around the room. Confident and eerie as she struggled to think. Struggled to answer, words leaving her. The clock was ticking; she should've been tempted, but she wasn't. Not really.

It was just another boy, who she didn't care for. Rachel could've died for all she cared. It didn't matter. She killed, like how many people? Lou Ellen probably deserved worse but she remained silent and still shrugged, "Whatever."

Pretend it wasn't a boy. A doll. A trick of the eyes. Yes. Yes. Exactly. They would've been tricking her right now, laughing as she might've fallen under their delusion. But she wouldn't be. Not ever. She spat on the floor and let out a hoarse, cynical laugh. "Go fuck yourself, by the way."

Very well, then, Lou Ellen. If you'd like to play, then why don't we play?

The vent tumbled down, along with two boys tied up as they fell to the ground. Tape covering their mouths and rope tying them up as she noticed, both of them with ketchup lamely covering their faces. For some reason, it made her feel more sick than normal blood; a pathetic attempt of it all that brought her stomach churning.

Tell me, Lou Ellen, how many dead bodies will rise when you're finished with whatever you want? At the subject, what do you want?

"Money." Her voice cracked. She wasn't lying. Not really. She did want money; it made everything seem or feel better. "I want money because everything seems better." The pressure was cracking down but just barely, as she swallowed.

We'll accept your lies for only once, Lou Ellen, but so far this is acceptable. You are apparently greedier for money than we let on.

Rachel fell limp the ground, blood spreading throughout her like a blanket, staining and dampening the carpet. Her body was covered in the crimson liquid, staining and dampening her clothing and skin as her green eyes remained wide open. The buff teenager was dead, it was obvious now and almost shamefully, she barely looked at him, thinking of how puppet-like he seemed.

A trick. It was an illusion. She was an expert in these sort of things and this seemed it. It was right. The two boys were still tied up and Drew Tanaka was muttering nonsense under her breathe but when Lou Ellen scanned the two boys again, she caught Cecil giving her a wink.

Then the question came back from before: what do you want? 


End file.
